#helluvaoutlaw

The household staff was lined up around the estate in tidy rows, like soldiers. The manor itself had belonged to a gruff old imp for many, many years after his ascension to General of the Legions, the second highest position in the military after the King. The staff had looked after his needs for quite some time...but he met his end two months ago, and a new General had been elected.

Coronis stood with most of her family in the line. They had been assigned to this household by virtue of their family lineage centuries ago. It was always one family of Goetia to tend to those in positions of power. The wings of the Satanic Army, the brutal forces that kept Hell in check.

Though she wriggled a little bit as they waited for the new General to arrive. They would be serving those one a great deal longer...if he survived the appointment. This one was new. This one was young.

If the mourning dove could sing in hell, it would be a rare song to hear. But right here in hell, where the nights were bright a sailor's delights not even a hellborne swan could shed a tear. That was the color that filtered through the old maid's curtains. No matter how many layers, Pride's grotesque bruised night sky would bleed through the fabric as if it was flooding her modest Tudor home. An evening reminder that all blood would darken black and show the yellow fatty streaks of where it had stained through.

The gramophone's needle caught an unintentional groove and the horn let out a loud crackle that made a certain little creature whimper and look up at the old soul that had cranked it. Susan was curled up in her chair, a heavy blanket wrapped around her, asleep. Her tea sat half drunken on the side table, biscuits partially eaten and what seemed like an unfinished crumpled note sat on a small saucer soaking up the tea from her teaspoon.

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙾𝚕𝚍 , 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙽𝚎𝚠.

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚎.

An art gift to the wonderful and talented roleplayer @helluvaoutlaw of their wonderful muse Striker getting ready for his wedding to @the-only-noonstar Harper!!

Keenie lets out a bored sigh as she watched the minutes tick by on the oven timer. The club had been open for 2 hours and she still hasn't seen a single patron. It felt like no matter how many free samples she left out, no one would visit a club ran by an angel.

Keenie idly takes out her phone and begins to swipe through Sinstagram to pass the time. As she scrolled through her feed she came across a picture of a Hellhorse. She smiles warmly, as it reminds her of her friend, Striker.

Come to think of it, has he ever been to the Gluttony Ring? The energy and bright colors didn't really fit his vibe. Keenie looks up from her phone to scan the empty club. Maybe now would be the perfect to invite him. Just a quiet night full of free samples and drinks... even if she didn't drink herself.

Chaz was just 'window shopping' you could say, walking around the streets of pride just looking someone interesting to chat up and maybe have some fun with. Not getting too interested in anyone until noticing the cowboy leaning on a light post on a sidewalk while Chaz was walking to another bar. Respectfully checking him out before walking up with a flirty glint in his eye

"Hey there Handsome, nice outfit, you trying to impress someone~? Well it's working~" The shark flirted, putting his arm above Striker's head as he leaned close, giving the cowboy a friendly yet mischievous smirk.

He is not surprised for the calls of an uprising, for the same thing had been done to human nobility for ages. On Earth, some of these attempts failed, while others were successful. The more successful ones led to executions for nobles, and with the presence of angelic weapons in hell, it was a concern to keep in mind.

(@helluvaoutlaw)

Back when Dallas used to work on his family's ranch many years ago, The Harvest Moon Festival was a must for sponsorship and supporting the community. Every year they would sign up for the livestock competition and would win nearly all of them. It just made pa even prouder of his men and allowed them a raise whenever they did.

Sure, even if he wasn't in the business anymore, he still liked to chat with the others about their yearly profit and the amount of product they produce daily. Something that his pa taught him at a young age.

The crisp, cool, air sent a nostalgic shiver down Dallas' spine. The children running and laughing without a care in the world under everyone's feet reminded Dallas of similar times with him and Kent. Begging their pa for money to get some deep-fried fair food with the promise of doubling their chores, Kent refusing to leave the petting zoo because he got too attached to the animals, Dallas having the place the young boy on his shoulders so that he could see what was playing on stage.

Probably his favorite one though, was the time when some Imp on a dunk tank taunted Kent, saying how he could never dunk him. After 2 failed attempts that nearly brought his younger brother to tears, Dallas stepped in and struck the target, sending the poor bastard into the water below.

Him and Kent laughed so hard that night, they even got a high-five out of ma once they told her what put them in such a good mood.

It always managed to put a small smile on his face.

Even with the thousands of Wrath denizens surrounding him, he will always feel lonely without his family by his side. You would think that after all this time he would learn to move on. And while he has better days, The Harvest Moon Festival liked to reopen old wounds.

His reminiscing thoughts were halted by Wally Wackford's announcement for the upcoming Pain Games. Something his ma would never allow the boys to do. While Kent would usually complain, Dallas was never interested in it those sorts of things. But he'll stay and see who wins this year.

Just out of the corner of his eye, did something painfully familiar caught his attention. His old hat, the one he'd won at the shooting range and the one he'd gifted Kent for his 6th birthday, sat perched on top of a Wrath Imps' head.

His logical side tried to reason with him, that there are a lot of similar hats like his, and that he shouldn't get all worked up because of it. Until the strange Imp turned and Dallas was greeted to the sight of bright yellow sclera with dark green rings around the slit pupils. Dallas felt the air leave his lungs as he continued to find the Imp more and more recognizable.

Same horn shape. Same hairstyle. Same face shape. He looks exactly like-

No...

Without a second thought, Dallas maneuvered his way through the crowd to see for himself if it was really him. If he had been alive all this time. That it wasn't just a ghost playing tricks on his fragile mind.

Ignoring the curious looks from others, Dallas finally reached the other, and said only one thing in a near hushed tone.